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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.; 



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UNITED STATES OE AMERICA. 




TADMOR, 



The Pride of the Desert. 



BY 



H. PHILIPS MONTGOMERY. 




/ 



BOSTON : C/ 
ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
PHILADELPHIA: CHARLES DESILVER. 

1865. 



T6 2- 



+ 2.+" 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 

H. PHILIPS MONTGOMERY, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern 

District of Pennsylvania. 



University Press: 

Welch, Bigelow, and Company, 

Cambridge. 



CANTO I. 



THE COUNCIL. 



CANTO I. 

THE COUNCIL. 

DEEP in the Orient, now, alas ! entombed, 
Surrounded by a vast and trackless moor, 
Which drank her beryl waters, Tadmor bloomed. 
Her fearless sons did whilom conquering pour 
From arrowy Tigris to the Nilus' shore ; 
But scarce the Sea had waved her triumph-tongue, 
Her hautboy's blast and bursting peal of war 
Italia heard ! Rome's temple-gates were swung ; 
Palmyra quivered not ! and how she fell, my song. 



The thirsting sands of Syrian plain 
Bid sad adieu to night again. 
And now aloft the day has won 
Each cedar-top of Lebanon. 
The encircled caravan unwinds 

Once more its drowsy coil ; 
The drooping camel gladly finds 

Fair Suri's softening soil. 



TADMOR. 

For since the Iran waters told 
Their wavelet parting, naught had lulled 
Their slumber save the desert's breath, 
And Simoom's seething blast of death. 

II. 

Oh, 't is a beauteous sight to see 
The morn's first blush on Stromboli ! 
But gorgeous where with earliest light 
Palmyra bursts upon the sight ! 
A thousand glittering towers beam ; 
A thousand sparkling minarets gleam ; 
From column, dome, and colonnade, — 
On these the skilful Scopas made 
His name immortal, — shaft and base, 
And capital of Corinth's grace, 
Reflection springs ; as when on high 
The Polar spirits light their sky, 
And spread auroral archway o'er 
The northern zone from shore to shore. 

III. 

Aloft, e'en temple-dome above, 
Are terraced aisle and cooling grove. 
The wearied eye glad lingers now 
Where tendril, rose, and leafy bough, 
Be-drooped with dew, their precious breath 



TADMOR. 7 

Send showering to the plain beneath 

From amaranth and Suri flowers 

So sweetly, that fair Eden's bowers 

In all their bloom were scarce more fair ; 

And th' Almighty trained the blossom there ! 

IV. 

Afar, Euphrates' wave is seen 

To sprinkle wide her matin-sheen. 

Proud flood ! what empires hast thou known 

Since Chaos fell, and Earth was born ? 

Thy gladsome waters swept the vales 

Of Paradise, while choral gales 

Hymned sweetly in quaternion flow, 

And echoing came and soft and low 

From each thy sacred sister-flood, 

And praised Him, Maker of all good ! 

V. 

Temptation was not absent long, 
Fair Ede, and cursed with withering Wrong 
Thy beauteous bloom. Thy wandering wave 
Then knew not Earth, nor where to lave. 

VI. 

Then reigned Chaldea's " King of Kings " 
Where Tigris to Euphrates brings 



TADMOR. 

Her fleetest foam : and Man forswore 
The Great Omnipotent ! His doom 
Enkindled, spread a blackening gloom 
Upon the earth ; from Heaven's shore 
And th' empyrean's copious deeps 
Upbroken did the waters pour ! 
Till Ararat's most lofty steeps 
Sank down into the gurgling main ! 
The ocean-wave was monarch then. 

VII. 

But soon thy currents poured anew, 

Euphrates, but in darker hue ; 

Arid traced their deep and erring line 

To Babylonia's impious shrine. 

Her tower crumbled, while each tongue, 

Though uttering, was unknown : 

Dissentient voices came among 

Mankind, and Man was lone ! 

VIII. 

Then next th' Assyrian dipped his steel 
In thy fair stream, and stamped the heel 
Of power on thy groaning shore 
For ages ! and great Babylon rose. 
Her sparkling splendor soon was o'er ; 
For Heaven told her dismal woes ! 



TADMOR. C 

And 'mid her deep damnation's throes, 
The Persian and the roving Mede 
Unstrung his bow, unreined his steed 
Upon yon sands. Then from the West 
The mighty Macedonian came ; 
For humbled Europe had confessed — 
Though Hellas loathe — his boundless fame. 
He oped the Cilician portals wide, 
Where Taurian mount meets Taurus' side, 
And heeding not the Asian foe, 
He joyed in Iran's orient glow. 

IX. 

The conqueror sighed his sword uphung, 

The clarion soon his requiem rung ! 

Then Roma sang her battle-paean, 

Unfurled her bright imperial sheen 

From Mada'i to Senaar. 

The Chaldean marks a stranger star, — 

The Kasdim in their brazen towers 

Knew -all the orbs, and knew their hours, — 

The star on Juda rests ! Again, 

Thou storied river ! thy glad wave 

Re-echoed the night-wind's whispering strain ; 

And with thy flowing murmur gave 

All-joyous homage to the Throne 

Of Him Triune, and yet but One. 



10 TADMOR. 

His brow ungemmed, no court was there, 
No bright monarchal spangling shone, 
No train of pomp, no gilded glare : 
He reigned unbugled, bannerless, 
With but th' Adoring Mother's kiss, 
And angel's voice to crown Him King ! 
Thou wouldst to His Dominion cling ! 
But Roma hushed thy wavelet-songs. 
Once more to Syria now belongs 
The fair Euphrates ; and her own 
Is claimed by Tadmor for her throne. 
But cease ; the pages yet to come 
Will tell her glory, mourn her doom ! 

X. 

Behold ! the day his blushing bride 
The roseate morn leads down the side 
Of Lebanon, while fount and fell, 
And leaf and shrub in Suri's dell, 
Joins in the bridal chorus loud 
Of merriest nature, while the cloud 
With morn-tints spangled throws her sheen, 
An azured veil, upon the scene. 

XL 

Now brightly burns the vestal fire ; 
Now sweetly chants the temple-choir ; 



TAD M OR. 1 1 

Tow'rets and minarets sparkle higher 

To greet the glorious Sun ! 
The censers fast their cassia fling ; 
The choristry more joyous sing ; 
While clanging chimes harmonious ring 

Thence cadence into one. 
For scarce has echo hushed her flow, 
The jocund morn is draped in woe. 

XII. 

Why ceased the choral morning song ? 
Why stilled the chancel's votive tongue ? 
Why from the palace and the cot — 
These equal love their own begot — 
Wild sorrowing comes ? the mother's moan 
Like that in Judah's Ramah known 
When Rachel childless wept her own ? 

XIII. 

From Taurus' hills through Syria's aisles 
A Syrian host in confused files 
To Tadmor streams ! their banners torn, 
Their serried ranks impetuous borne 
By Rome's wild cohorts, as the leaves 
Are shattered by th' autumnal blast, 
Where flowery Sibma vainly grieves 
Her summer-sheen is sweeping past ! 



12 T ADM OR. 



XIV. 



Full soon the offspring of great Jove 
And Themis, circling, sadly move 
To noon and eve. Now list the calls 
From shrilly clarions wide resound, 
And winding turn in swift rebound, — 
As when the storm on Etna falls, 
And thrills her fiery-caverned ground. 

XV. 

To th' accited Council chief and sage 
Troop in the measured step of age ; 
Statesman, and soldier whose proud form 
Ne'er quivered in the battle storm ! 
The Council met. A seething sound 
Like that of waves which fell around 
Baal-Zephon's shoal, when Orion urged 
The Red-Sea waves so that they surged 
Beneath her sands ; till morning watch 
Sweet Miriam sang in joyous glee, 
" The Chosen walk a pathwayed sea ! 
This morn in vain the watery search 
For Pharaoh and his chariotry ! " 



TADMOR. 13 

XVI. 

Hushed now the voice and eager tongue, 

And warriors' clashing steel 
Which on the marbled pave had rung, 

And swells the hautboy peal ; 
And burst the trumpets to the dome ! 
While sways the throng like Norway's trees 
When howls the Arctic's wildest breeze. 
'T is he, the great Longinus, come ! 
He casts one glance of pride around 
The numerous host ; one well may see 
His nature noble and as free, 
By guile nor arcane malice bound. 
Th' Almighty's ban but lightly traced 
Its withering line on one so graced. 
No self is there : by millions deemed 
A Great Palladium, he but seemed 
At Suri's shrine devout to stand, — 
That shrine his Country, his own Land. 

XVII. 

The bugle-strain is still more shrill, 
The trumpet-blast is louder still, 
As, beauteous, yet in martial mien, 
Appears the gorgeous " Orient Queen." 



H 



TADMOR. 

Her form is woman's utmost grace ; 

A mind reflects in that fair face 

And brilliant eye, the spirits stern 

Such as in women rarely burn, — 

Spirits which on the battle-field 

Could charge the foe, nor ask the shield ! 

Dark Pride has marked her brow with care, 

For Beauty loves to revel there. 

So proud and fair, yon Queen may claim 

The blood of Egypt's fairest fame, 

And Macedonia's nobler name. 

XVIII. 

High on a throne, — all fretted wrought 
In gems from Ind and Ophir brought, 
Where Oman's dark and surgy Sea 
Gives precious pearls to Araby, — 
Zenobia viewed the countless throng. 
She waved each harp and lute and song 
Which heralded her coming, cease ! 
Then, soft as rainbow's gentle kiss 
On great Niagara's feathery foam, 
Or as from Sinai's deep abyss 
The morning calls the woody gloom, 
While anxious echo left her cell 
In dome and arch, her accents fell : — 



T ADM OR. 15 

XIX. 

" My Palmyrenians, ye well know, 

By sad Orontes' waters' flow 

At Emesa and Antioch 

Resounded far the battle shock ! 

When Suri with Italia clashed, 

In vain our hissing fire flashed ; 

In vain my furious horsemen clove 

Their foe's strong rank, and filled the grove 

With Roman blood ; in vain their steel ; 

The maddened foe in frenzied reel 

But gathered strength, — as waves which sweep 

The rapids, ere they plunge the steep, 

When some rock-isle impedes their flow. 

One moment heard Rome's battle-paean ; 

One moment glowed her standards' sheen. 

Now, Syria, list thy peal of woe ! 

The bugles' sound, the ordered tread, 

Like spirit-marching of the dead, 

Now nearer comes ; each bellowing hill 

Back hurls their shout, while clarions thrill 

The wide terrene ! A moment more 

Palmyra's victory was o'er ! 

The Roman's triumph-chant was sung ; 

The Syrian's dirge was faintly rung ; 

For many a dying hero there 



l6 T ADM OR. 

Had but the requiem of the air : 
His winding-sheet his armor cold, 

The mountain rock his bier ; 
His cold clay heeds not costly fold 

Whose spirit knew not fear. 

XX. 

"Aurelian, with furious speed, 

To Tadmor comes ; he doth not heed 

The foe, nor famine, nor the blast 

Which sounds her death-knell wild and fast 

When he from Taurus mount shall burst, 

And in our stream shall slake his thirst, 

Our pleasant plants then no more green ; 

Our merry vineyard-shouting ceased, 

When evening in amethyst 

Bids rest from toil ; no more then seen 

The tendril clinging to the bough, 

Nor heard our gushing streamlets' flow ! 

XXI. 

" Say, then, ye sons of lone Tadmor, 
Ye who fear not the rage and roar 
Of battle's tempest, shall this flood 
Be poured on Suri ? or your blood 
Be driven through your fevered vein 
By heaving heart, that once again, 



TADMOR. i J 

With earnest hate and eager zeal, 

In Rome's proud ranks ye dash your steel ? 

XXII. 

" Say first, Longinus, thou great sage ; 
Thou who art learned in wisdom's page ; 
Hast plucked from Hellas' richest vines, 
Hast delved into her deepest mines, 
And brought that richest mineral forth, 
Of daring courage, untold worth ! 
Land of Leonidas, and thee, 
Self-doomed Solon, thou wouldst be 
Alone with these, of glorious fame, 
Though in a desert without name ! " 

XXIIL 

Zenobia ceased. Longinus stood ; 

In majesty of thought he viewed 

The anxious host ; with deep despair 

He wrestled, not debasing fear, 

Strained now each eye, and turned each ear : — 

XXIV. 

" Queen of the Orient, and ye peers, 
I too have seen the wounds and tears 
Of Syrian soldier, and his home, 
The clash of hosts, the battle's foam. 



1 8 T ADM OR. 

'T is true th' Abana's waters flow 
To Pharphar's wave and sands below, 
Ensanguined with Palmyra's slain ; 
Though ours the loss, yet theirs the gain. 

XXV. 

"Whose blood to his own land is given 
Constant breathes to highest Heaven ! 
More honor in his cere-cloth's mould 
Than Colchian colors, Hermean gold. 
Fair Suri sheds her sweetest bloom 
Where soldier sleeps in patriot's tomb ! 

XXVI. 

" E'en now the Hesperian gale doth bring 
The hammers' fall, the clink and ring 
Of Gothic arms and clashing shields 
In wild Hyrcinia's woody fields. 
When winter builds a pathway o'er 
The Danube's flood to Thracian shore, 
Then Rome her cohorts soon may need, 
Each lance and bow, each foaming steed. 

XXVII. 

" The Persian king has learned to know 
To Tadmor better friend than foe ; 
While from the South, the copious Nile 



TAD M OR. 19 

Her Memphian horse and swarthy file 
Shall pour upon yon Roman host. 
These burning sands our ramparts strong ; 
Here Rome shall build her holocaust, 
With plenteous death and requiem song ! 
My life to Tadmor and my Queen 
I give ! and, by the morn's bright sheen, 
Which spangles now yon orby dome, 
I but in death see conquering Rome ! " 

XXVIII. 

A shadow crossed his glowing brow, 
As night-shade glooms the waters' flow. 
Longinus paused ; convulsed with thought, 
He strove to deem the shade was naught. 
His patriot eye was dimmed ; his frame 
Heaved once, and only once, with shame. 
Again his voice, but quivering, came : — 

XXIX. 

" More fatal is the mining slow 

Of occult mind, than open foe ; 

The oak bends not with wildest wind, - 

But by the worm we fagots bind. 

At Thermos' gates, where CEtan dell 

The ocean meets, the Spartan fell ! 

The Persian power stormed in vain ; 

A Greek betrayed, the Greeks were slain ! 



20 TADMOR. 



XXX. 



" O Palmyrenians ! should I find 

Betrayal in a Syrian mind, 

As joyous as the Teuton's pall 

When in the strife his captains fall 

Would be my death ! nor should ye grieve, 

For living death 't would be to live ! " 

XXXI. 

As through the magnet's unseen vein 

The amber flows, or as the rain 

From high Armenia's mountain-snow 

Doth swell each fount and stream below, 

So did Longinus' voice and mien 

Flow through the throng ; and each was seen 

To glow with new-awakened fire. 

Soldier and sage, each son and sire 

Clanked his steel, or waved his hair. 

'T is silence, though the echoing air 

Is loath to lose Longinus' word. 

Again Zenobia's voice is heard : — 

XXXII. 

" My sons of Suri ! who is here 

And deems us lost, or shrinks with fear ? 

When he, our bravest, — ^ if there be 



T ADM OR. 21 

The bravest, 'mid such bravery, — 
Fair Tadmor deems and life but one, 
And joys in death her past renown ? 

XXXIII. 

"Well do I know no suasion need 
To urge ye to heroic deed ! 
Then be each arm a mighty host 
In will and daring, though the cost 
Be death. Yet shall a Roman die ! 
Our God shall tint your panoply 
With colors gorgeous, and as rare — 
If we may earth to Heaven compare — 
As Christians say their Great on High 
Doth gild His own who faithful die ! 
Primal of all, when Ccele-Syria's dell, 
Hushed in repose, no jarring sound shall tell, 
Let all Palmyra to our Temple throng, 
To urge on high due praise and votive song 
To Him, All-Glorious Orb, whose eterne Light 
Knows not Earth's fleeting morn, nor hour, nor night ! " 

XXXIV. 

The Assembly o'er, now' heard the fall 
Of ponderous iron ; fosse and wall 
With thousands teem ; the liquid flame 
Crackles and seethes : such sound there came 



2 2 TADMOR. 

When Salem fell and passed away, — 

Such was Jehovah's doom ; — then day 

And night were one, for through the gloom, 

The flash, and hiss, and bursting boom 

Of charged fire did disthrone 

The star-crowned god. Now, one by one, 

The balista and tower strong 

In labent groove are dragged along. 

The creeking wheel heaps up the sand 

In hugest mounds, for close at hand 

The Roman doth his engines bring. 

But list yon sacred bells' wild swing ! 

Their pealing chimes are loud and clear, 

And call to temple and to prayer. 

XXXV. 

What pen can write, whose voice can tell, 
Of Tadmor's temple ere she fell ? 
Bewildered Fancy guides her wing 
Where Contemplation may not soar ; 
And yet from aeriest heights may bring 
No sheen more bright than sprinkles o'er 
Yon wondrous fabric, or more pure ! 

XXXVI. 

Of massive strength, yet graceful form, 
Unmoved, untinged by wildest storm 



TADMOR. 

That bleaky Caucasus could blow, 

When Boreas hurls his mountain snow, 

Each fluted shaft and architrave, 

And pure and white, the moon doth lave ; 

Delighted in their carved cells, 

Like ocean's voice in Oman's shells, — 

So white and pure, the Orient star, 

Bright gnomon to the morn, 
Will leave one gleam to linger there 

To greet the coming dawn ! 
Innumerous lights are showered wide, 

Like aerolites that gleam 
O'er Bab-el-Mandeb's boisterous tide, 

Where whirls her tropic stream. 

XXXVII. 

Pride of the world ! thy temple-brow 
Must need be strong, and deep below 
Thy fountain-deeps must be thy walls ! 
E'en then those rocks and columned halls 
Shall by the shivering wind be blown ; 
Thy very site unsearched, unknown, 
Till Arab, wandering o'er the plain, 
Shall pile thy friezed and fretted fane, 
And rudely drag, with heating toil, 
Thy slumbering arches from the soil : 
And through long ages yet to be, 



24 TADMOR. 

Yon sad and sorrowing cypress-tree 
Alone shall tell it bloomed with thee ! 

XXXVIII. 

Now throng through the temple's every aisle 
Palmyra's thousands, file on file 
Continuous pours, and helmet clanks 
With helmet, as the martial ranks, 
With heads uncovered, bend the knee 

In silence and in awe ! 
But ne'er to foe could such things be 

When heard the shouts of war. 
Now timbrels, lutes, and sacred song 

In chords consociate flow, 
And sweep like whirlwind wild along, 

Enwrapping all below. 
Then from aloft the sounds quick reel 
From cymbals' crash and trumpets' peal. 

XXXIX. 

Now wave the censers in the air, 
Blazes the cressets' brightest glare ; 
A thousand hands fast hold the strings, 
Ten thousand strings vibrate no more, 
As, white as snow, where Hyems flings 
Her purest mantle on the floor 
Of dreary Zembla, comes the train 



TADMOR. 25 

Of priests, whose robes are sprinkled o'er 

With flashing sardius and ligure. 

Quick every harp is full again ; 

And emerald and jasper bright 

Vie with the lustres' streaming light, — 

For India's islets scarce may boast, 

Trinacria's golden-showered coast, 

Or Pactolus, or Hermes' stream, 

Such gems as on yon white robes gleam. 

The altars, heaped with offerings rare, 

Their incensed flames throw high in air. 

But list ! the lutes have ceased their flow, 

And silence binds the minstrelsy ! 
While in deep tone and measure slow 

Is heard the chancel's solemn plea. 



THE PR A YE R. 



" Thou mightiest of orbs ! sprung from that voice 
Which rang in heavenly echo through the gloom 
Of jarring chaos ; then the furious Etnas hurled 
Down tumbling to the floods their smoking tops ; 
The whirling oceans roared and gulfed them fast 
And seething to their fiery-angered deeps ; 
Such desolation then, that swiftest sphere, 



26 TADMOR. 

Malignant deemed of earth, enjoyed the scene, 
As starry systems plunged through elemental war ! 
On th' empyrean's loftiest mountain-height 
Thou stoodst ! then sprang each wildly-roaming orb, 
And found her azured groove. Soon countless harps 
To flowing harmony were tuned, which since 
And ceaseless have their hymning chorals wound 
In winding morning-song their praise to Thee ! " 

CHORISTRY. 

Almighty Orb ! Most High of Power ! 
Hear our Prayer, and mark the Plea ! 
Soon comes Palmyra's trial-hour, 
, Be Thou with us, "HXie ! 

II. 

" Or if by blasting heat, or moist exhale 

Of dampening dew and pestilential chill, 

Or darkness deep, as when th' Egyptian groped, 

And cursed the land of Goshen, which had caused 

Such grief upon the Nile, to Thee best known ; 

So that yon proud and daring Roman host, 

Which, impious, would assail thy chosen shrine, 

May be from Asia to Europa hurled ! 

Thence evermore our flames shall constant burn, 

Our glad and grateful hymns shall follow Thee 

From glowy Persia to the Great-Sea deep, 



TADMOR. 

Where Hesperus with fading beam now calls 
The Sea-rose from its amber-shrouded couch 
To greet rejoicing Thee, all-glorious Sun ! 

CHORISTRY. 

Almighty Orb ! Most High of Power ! 
Hear our Prayer, and mark the Plea ! 
Soon comes Palmyra's trial-hour, 
Be thou with us, "H\ie ! 



27 



CANTO II. 

THE SIEGE. 



CANTO II. 

THE SIEGE. 

NOW empire with an empire strives for sway ; 
Thadmora hurls defiance to great Rome ; 
Through Coele-Syria's purple-flowered way 

The blasting tramps of angry cohorts come. 
Her once cerulean skies are dimmed in gloom, 

While portents dark of ill on Suri throng. 
Zion betrayed her trust, — she found her doom ! 
Defiant was her pride, and sweet her song, 
Yet Salem's willowed harps in Shinar were unstrung ! 



The clarion rings on mountain steep, 
The Roman host upsprings from sleep ; 
And loud and shrill the tuba strain 
Calls to the cohorts, " March again ! " 

II. 

Twelve times the hour-glass had told 
Its dreamy tale ; as oft had rolled 



32 TAD M OR. 

From winded horn the " night-watch change." 
The tents are struck ; in 'customed range 
The beasts of burden wait the blast 
To bear their toil. It comes full fast ! 
The camp is silence, for their tread 
Already sounds from woody glade. 

III. 

In discord dull, the plumbean tramp, 
The heavy-armor's clink and clamp, 
The lituus peal, and chargers' stamp 
On the echoing rock, comes not so shrill 
As voices from yon startled hill ! 
For many years of beauteous peace 
Had smiled on Sibma's flowery leas. 

IV. 

A Roman soldier, loath to leave 
Orontes' blooming flowered shore, 
Strayed gladly where the Great-Sea tide 
Its blue wave heaves on Syria's side, 
And mused the Past, its glories o'er ! 

V. 

" Thou Monarch Sea, thy waves still roll, 
While earth's proud thrones have bid thee oft 
To mark their deeds ! and now the lull 



T ADM OR. 33 

Of thy night-spray is heard aloft, 
Nor brings their echo to its toll ! 
They called the isles in all thy deep ! 
And slumber now in wakeless sleep. 

VI. 

"Where now their triremes, and the hosts 
Of shields which glimmered on thy coasts ? 
Silent and low, in the dark ocean-dell, 
Where the coralline, building his snowy-white cell, 
Has more voice than they, though in full-swelling 

pride 
They skimmed the warm tropic to India's tide. 

VII. 

"Where now the rainbow-tinted blaze 
Of pageantry, which stunned the gaze 
Of Cydnus' banks, when Nile's dark queen 
In flowing palace glided by ? 
Where now e'en Rome's imperial sheen 
Of Actium, and her Argosy ? 

VIII. 

"There Tyre, on her sapphire throne, 
In spangled splendor whilom shone ! 
By sea-floods crowned, a gorgeous queen, 
Enrobed in azure and in green, 
3 



34 



TADMOR. 



Her sceptre dripping with the spray 
Of far-off isles, 4ield monarch sway ! 

IX. 

" No more the groaning timber glides 
From Lebanon's exhaustless sides ! 
No more the moist and weeded keel 
Is dragged up on the lab'ring wheel, 
Till Hyem's feathery t winds are o'er 
No more the Tyrian marks the star 
The royal-born # Harpalyce ; 
And furls his sail, or holds the oar, 
As her light shimmers on the sea ! 



"O many a hand on the emerald floor 
Of the Persian waters, has groped for Tadmor ! 
And, Tarshish, thy mariner, joyous and free, 
As he furled his swan-wing in the foam of this sea, 
And he thought of his pearl, and, fair Tadmor, of 
thee! 

XL 

"Thy wave resilient shuns those walls 
Where Tyre held her festivals ! 
Alas ! now there the glazed owl, 
The bittern's cry, and famish-howl 



TADMOR. 35 

Of roving wolf, where once the dove 
Told soft her matin-tale of love. 
And Zor and beauteous Saida seem 
Lone desolation, and a dream ! 

XII. 

"Nations have but an humble span 
Of time their own, — and so with man ! 
His life a mount : the joyous child 
Quick-bounding climbs ; through wooded wild 
And myrtled grove he loves to stray, 
And pluck the primrose by the way. 
He sports with shadows, mocks dull care, 
And seeks the sun-light's vertic glare. 
No storm is there, no howling blast ; 
The future all, and none the past. 

XIII. 

" Midsummer dons her deepest green ; 
The child, now man, sees what hath been. 
With eager step, aloft he seeks — 
Ambition led — the highest peaks. 
Man drinks but of a Circean bowl, 
Who gains alone the human goal. 
Th' Acropolis won, his crowned wreath 

Its verdure but an hour wears ! 
A single blast imbrowns the heath, 

The first chill wind his chaplet sears. 



36 TADMOR. 

XIV. 

" October spreads with topaz hue 
Th' autumnal floor, while sad and few 
Are nature's songs, — reflective bent 
Life's faltering steps in slow descent. 
The shadow length'ning on the lea, 
The wan moon's pathway on the sea, 
• The deep'ning cadences of day, 
The seething night-lull of the spray, — 
Scarce heard from distant rock-bound shore, 
All whisper, ' Man, thy life soon o'er ! ' 

XV. 

" Old age slow totters in the glade, 
'Mid cold December's leafless shade ; 
Through joyless nature howls the blast ; 
The mountain torrent surges fast. 
Perchance, in flow of ebbing age, 
The lone and darksome pilgrimage 
Of death begins in life, — when mind 
Hath left a vacancy behind : 
Oblivion mounts her dreamy throne ; 
Her trains of fancies, one by one, 
Recall of childhood hours ; and then 
The aged smiles, and dreams again. 



TADMOR. 57 

XVI. 

"Now have the three Custodia dread 
Spun out, yet pause to cut, the thread 
Of weaved life. The fiat said, 
And man is with the mumbling dead, 
Where Styx, in dread Gehenna's gloom, 
In turgid flow, shall tell his doom ! 

XVII. 

"And this is Syria, whose proud queen 
Hath flung her banner 'gainst the sheen 
Of purpled Rome ! This beauteous land, 
The gods on high, with showering hand, 
Have ever filled with plenteousness 
And fruitful bloom. So Christians say 
That Israel was, ere Righteousness 
Was lost in Sin ; for in that day 
Their valleys smoked with impious flame, 
As infants bled for Moloch's name ! 

XVIII. 

"Here did th' Israelitish king — 
Earth's wisest — Juda's cohorts bring; 
And Tadmor from the desert rose ; 
And here Damascus, where still flows 
Her golden stream ! I 've heard, in Rome, 



38 TAD M OR. 

When good Vespasian reigned, did come, 
In chains, one Paul, and told that here 
A voice from Heaven called him from 
His persecuting sin, to bear 
Thenceforth the cross of Him who rose 
From Calvary, where Kedron flows ! 
He fell, the Seven Churches fell, 
And all who impious would assail 
Great Jove, th' Omnipotent of all ! 

XIX. 

" Roma, my country ! is thy doom 
To know decadence, and the tomb 
Of this flood's depths ? A thousand times 
This whirling globe hath rung her chimes 
In New-Year peal ! as oft her chord 
The poised sun hath faintly heard 
In burning Cancer ! — and yet still 
Rome's empire is, unbound her will ! " 

XX. 

Now shift the scene to Theudemor ! 
And mark, that ceaseless-spinning Time 
Has passed one half th' Ecliptic floor ! 
On Suri's genial perfumed clime 
The sacred sun more vertic glows, 
To greet her streams, but not the rose ! 



TADMOR. 

XXI. 

But few the hours to the crash 
Upon thy wall, thou lone Tadmor ! 
For vain the wild Arabians' dash — 
Like lightning on the Bsetic shore — 
Upon the Roman cohorts' mail ! 
At night, their lances like the gale, 
When the crashing cloud lights up the side 
Of Athos, and th' .^Egean tide. 

XXII. 

In vain Palmyra's gates wide ope, 
Her thousands shower down the slope 
To break the siege ! In vain the foe 
Is thwarted in the mine below ! 
For angered voice and steeled clank 
Come faintly from the deep-earth dank, 
Where gallery has sapped in vain 
To turn the stream into the plain ; 
Or where 'twould kindle flame beneath, 
And level wall upon the heath. 

XXIII. 

This night, amid the harshest hum 

Of battle-music shrill, shall come 

The gath'ring tramp, and moaning wail, 

When Tadmor mourns for those shall fall ! 



39 



40 



TADMOR. 



XXIV. 



O Death ! thy sting is not the end 
Of mortal life ! Man may defend 
'Gainst recollections of his joys 
To be no more : not this alloys 
His parting hour ! That horrid grin, 
That griping agony, is Sin ! 

XXV. 

Sin frets and clogs the struggling soul ! 

To that vast void it may not soar. 
Boundless infinitude ! the roll 

,And noise of all the orbs afar, 
Seen from the Caspian, to their full 
Accretioned, would be but a toll ; 
Nor heard by smallest orb of light 
Which shines on Heaven's gorgeous night ! 
To the just alone decreed the sight, — 
By ordinance of the Mighty One, — 
In flickering life, to joyous read 
The gleaming scroll, " Well hast thou done ! " 
For him alone, on High decreed, 
To see the crystal-studded mounts, 
The vales in amber-colored glow, 
Where, gushing forth, the living founts 
Of precious mercy ceaseless flow ! 



TADMOR. 41 

XXVI. 

Land of the lily and the palm ! 
How oft, in evening hour calm, 
The Afric wind has whispered tales 
Amid the hush of thy sweet vales, 
And told, she lingered on Galilee ; 
And there came down from airy height, 
At Bethlehem was glad to light, 
But sorrowing moaned at Calvary ! 

XXVII. 

Pride of the East, to thee in vain 

'Twas told, that Christ was born and slain 

To rise again ! Yon foam-born queen, 

Pure-robed in white and silvery sheen, 

Drawn through the azure by her doves, 

Fanned by the roseate-smiling loves, 

Astarte hight, — for her, Tadmor 

And Thammuz, whom she moaned of yore, 

And now would glean anemone, 

And gladly drink its purple die ! 

For these, by night, thy temples throng, 

With chorals sweet, and hymning song ! 

XXVIII. 

Alas ! Bellona's shrieking voice 
Through Suri howls with fearful noise ; 



42 



TADMOR. 

And calls her handmaids to her side, 
And bids them scatter far and wide 
Grim pestilence and famine sear, — • 
For these to war are ever near ! 

XXIX. 

Quick they obey : and now full soon, 
'Mid havoc wild, the fierce triune 
On Tadmor's vale and towers fall ! 
But there divide, — the Roman feels 
Full soon disease, which, dreadful, steals 
Resistless through his chained mail, 
Though many a lance had plunged in vain ; 
And many a warrior tells this eve 
To the babbling camp, 'in glad reprieve, 
His day-deeds o'er, who, when again 
The morn shall tint each mount and vale, 
Shall clutch in death his own breast-mail ! 

xxx. 

Sad Theudemor ! thy sacred sun 
Not now to thee distils such dew 

Of chill disease. But there is one 

More dreadful woe, — and sparing few. 

Want unsupplied ! Mark now the glare 

Of the rambling eye, where once the clear 



TADMOR. 43 

And merry glance of jocund age ! 
When Rome shall bind more close her siege, 
Thou helpless fondling, weep, but heed ! 
Thou shalt be fed ! and death shall feed ! 

XXXI. 

Why haste to war, ye sons of men ? 
Alas ! the subtle fiend, when, 
In hell's profound and dark arcane, 
He brewed the brackish slimy juice 
For Eve, the compound did infuse 
With crimson gall, a venom gum, 
With which compared the hemlock sore 
Life-giving is ! From deep-hell gloom 
To Ede he 's come ! Ede is no more ! 
Her wandering queen is roaming o'er 
The earth exiled, and tells awhiles 
Of joy in those once flowery aisles ; 
And while she speaks, the hand of Cain 
Is crimsoned deep, and man slays man ! 

XXXII. 

Why haste to war ? The holocaust 
Of death has smoked with human gore 
With ceaseless flame, from the Borean coast 
To South Arabia's myrrhine shore. 



44 



TADMOR. 

Let anger but his conscience sear, 
.And man would from his adverse tear 
The upturned eye, and hush its prayer ! 

XXXIII. 

How different is the olive-grove, 

Where smiling Peace may fearless rove ; 

Sprung from high heaven and from the earth, 

And as to mark such precious birth, 

She was enwreathed in blooming flowers, 

And in her hand th' averted torch ; 

While o'er her bloodless altars watch, 

To keep unharmed her tranquil bowers, 

Her pearl-crowned sisters, — justice, law. 

And over all Astrsea keeps — 

That heaven-born mother never sleeps — 

Her scales well poised. She would that o'er 

The earth man would but render due 

And justice to his fellow-man ! 

This done, the gales indeed but few 

A nation's wrongs could ever fan 

From ember to the hideous fires 

Of sack and pillage, whose dread pyres 

Have burned, and still relentless burn, 

In every clime of every zone ! 



CANTO III. 



THE FALL, 



CANTO III. 



THE FALL, 



WHERE, O vain man, has that lost Pleiad 
gone, 
Which, many ages since, her sisterhood 
Of clustering orbs did leave ?. God knows her morn, 
Her noon, and eve, and night, as when she stood 
The monarch of the stars ! She throws a flood 
Of light on worlds beyond the mortal ken ; 
While He, th' Omniscient, marks her solitude, 
And hears her winding spheric-harp's refrain, 
When all the other orbs have ceased their choral strain ! 



Now Erebus, with sable train, 
Shadows, darkness, fitful dreams, 
His night-march stalks in Syria's glen 
All lightless ; for the flinty gleams, 
Which nightly there had showered wide 
From peak to peak and side to side 
Of rocky pass, have flickered out ; 



48 TADMOR. 

Uncalled the watch, unheard the shout ; 
All hushed as tide of Great-sea main. 
Sad Theudemor, thou 'It hear again ! 

II. 

Wearied with watching, and with thought 
How next to thwart his Roman foes, 
Longinus sleeps ; but not repose 
Is there for one whose mind is fraught 
With troublous care ! Not thus the swain 
Whose day-toil o'er, down-glides the stream 
Of sweet oblivion, and whose dream 
Will follow its flow with willing brain. 

III. 

The sable balances of night 
Are equal poised 'twixt eve and morn. 
Longinus' dream takes distant flight : 
" What sound is that by echo borne ? " 
He speaks aloud : " Is it the breeze 
Which, oft-times checked by clustering trees 
Which throng on cypressed Lebanon, 
Sweeps wildly o'er the desert lone ? 
'T is the Roman psean ! Rouse, Tadmor ! 
Thou soon shalt feel a crash and roar 
Such as yon walls have ne'er yet known ! 
List to yon distant measured moan : — 



T ADM OR. 49 

THE P y£ A N . 



1. 



" Fling up the proud eagles, ye sons of Italia ! 

Bandrols and banners in glittering sheen ! 
Our history's pages are gilded yet brighter, 

For Roma has conquered where Roma has seen ! 

In the wilds of the North, 

Where the Teuton and Goth 
Still dream of the Tibur in midsummer green, — 

Where the Nubian gale 

Fans the dark Nilus' vale, — 
Our Roma has conquered where Roma has seen ! 



" Brave Hellas we levelled e'en to her foundations, 
Her streamlets made dry ere they gushed to the sea ; 
And thus shall be darkened this ' Pride of the Morning,' 
And crumbled her colonnades, strong though they 
be! 
We shall give her bright .domes 
To the fierce desert-storms, — 
Ply sickle and scythe where is Tadmor beneath ; 
Then shout mount to mountain, 
And echo each fountain, 
' The gods give Aurelian victory's wreath ! ' " 
4 



50 TADMOR. 

IV. 

" Now to the walls ! and from your towers 
Mark where the foe would hurl his showers 
Of ironed beams and massive rock ! 
Mark where shall come the storming shock 
Of the swinging ram, and the barbed hail, 
When shell-bound Plutei assail ! 



" Drive on your mines ! that hollow earth, 
When firm their plumbean tower stands, 
With archers crowded in its girth, 
Shall yield till scorched and smoking sands, 
Long fusing from your flaming brands, 
Shall deep engulf them ! List ! more near 
The murmur comes ; and, by the glare 
Of crackling flames, methinks they bear 
In Roman camp the red-flag streaming, 
And high spears firm and battle-gleaming ! 

VI. 

"A trumpet sounds! their leader's voice 

Calls to the Milites for choice. 

At once are countless hands upthrown ; 

At once their voices shout aloud ; 

And shields are rung, their flash, upborne, 

Enlightens bright yon midnight cloud. 



TADMOR. 5I 

VII. 

" Now sound the trumpets' harshest din ; 

' To arms ! ' the Roman legions cry ; 
The eagles willing, they deem to win 

More sure in war the victory. 
When standards loathe to leave the ground, 
Unheard the shout and triumph-sound. 

VIII. 

" Their watchword giv'n with furious foam, 

Aurelian cries : ' Sons of Rome ! 

Live not to hear, in days to come, 

That ye, who've conquered the hardy Goth, 

And whose proud paean has sounded north 

Till Scythian quailed, — that ye did storm 

In vain 'gainst one of woman form ! 

Fling your banners 'mid the foe ! 

The gods are ours ; and, ere the glow 

Of earliest morn shall tint the east, 

Palmyra 's ours ! Your toil ceased, 

The golden crown shall deck your feast ! ' 

IX. 

"And now they summon from our bounds 
The guardian gods. Quick now resounds 
The hideous crash of angered war ! 



52 



TADMOR. 

In vain their shielded tortoise creeps 

To mount the high walls' sloping steeps ; 

The huge rock slips, and with a roar — 

Like many whirlwinds in the deeps 

Shiver the foam on rocky shore — 

Breaks down and bursts their platted shields ! 

In sad recoil the cohort yields ! 



" Now let your engines pour their floods 

Of eager flame upon the foe ; 
Yon sparkling fire ever bodes 

Dread ruin in its arrowed flow. 
' Now charge, ye steel-clad heroes, down ! ' 

See how they stream ! Ah ! many a groan 
Comes up from Roman ranks full soon ! 

Their lines are broken, but not gone. 

XL 

" In vain your charge, my noble braves ! • 
But few return, and many graves 
Are found amid the din and tramp 
And hideous glare of Roman camp. 
Aurelian redoubles now 

His eager legions, for the storm 
Is trending, Tadmor, to thy brow ; 

In solid wedge and thick they form ! 



TADMOR. 53 

XII. 

"And thou, my queen, art undismayed 
Amid this crash and battle roar ! 

For thee shall shiver many a blade, 
Ere thou shalt lose thy own Tadmor. 

Amid the sound, and 'mid yon sheen, 

Is heard thy voice, and marked thy mien. 

XIII. 

" List ! comes the deadliest crash of all ! 
A hundred engines seek the wall. 
Though thousands fall, the mighty beams 
Swing to and fro ; the iron gleams 
Like lightning flash amid the gloom 
Of dismal Hades' vale of doom ! 

XIV. 

" Now whirled far back to utmost bound, 
They scoop the air with whirlwind sound. 
Our walls are crumbling ! Fly, thou queen, 
While yet the night thy course may screen ! 
Go thou to Persia ! Rome shall know 
She has but taken one Tadmor. 
She 's gone ! The foe Palmyra gains ! 
Our queen yet lives, and Syria reigns ! " 



54 TADMOR. 

XV. 

We leave the harsh discord of war, 
And speed the Syrian desert o'er. 
See, in yon deep and shaded bower, 
The lily, thyme, and myrtle flower, 
With citron branch and leaves entwine, 
And tendrils drooping from the vine. 
Their essence sweet as that which came 
From far Sabea, to the child 
Who humbly slept in Bethlehem, 
While hushed the voicing night-wind wild, 
And God to man was reconciled ! 

XVI. 

No sound comes here, save waters' moan 

Of fair Euphrates ; and the lone 

And low chant of the vigil watch, 

Who nightly the sacred embers turn, 

Till morn doth gild the orient arch 

(This night the last that flame shall burn) ! 

XVII. 

Here woman weeps, and weeps alone, 
Save but a minstrel ; he is one 
Of boyhood bloom, and form and face 
Of Hylas, when with heavenly grace 



TADMOR. 

He tripped the blue Olympian skies, 
And gave the cup to Hercules. 

XVIII. 

The woman lays a diadem 
Upon the ground ; unclasps the gem 
Which circled neck and arm. The seas 
Were sounded deep to give her these. 
So pure each pearl and diamond rare, 
It seemed like morn-dew sprinkled there. 

XIX. 

Her voice in such sad cadence fell, 
It hushed the mellowing warbled trill 
Of the Bulbul in her leafy gloom. 
And many a floweret lost its bloom ; 
For here, 'tis said that all night long 
The Syrian roses list her song. 
Her voice enchimed with river's flow, 
She told the child and night her woe ! 



Is it a dream ? My gilded empire lost, 

Down-trampled to the dust by mighty Rome ? 

My firm-foundationed power rudely tost, 

As wild winds lash the shivering ocean foam ? 



55 



56 TADMOR. 

2. 
Fair Suri, I had often longed to bind 

The nations' crowns upon thy lily brow ! 
And, proud Italia conquered, naught had lined 

Thy power's limit, save th' Atlantic flow ! 

3- 

But now, hushed e'en my merry vineyard song 
In paths once peaceful ; and the trills 

Of twilight nature never more shall throng 
Through Theudemor's acacia-blossomed hills ! 

4* 
All pomp and spangled power now have fled ! 

Palmyra, to oblivion doomed, shall be 
Unsorrowed and unknown, save by her dead, — 

As Siddim's lone and ever surgeless sea ! 

5- 
And thou, Longinus, who hast ever been 

Not self, but ministrant to Tadmor's throne ! 
To regain all that 's lost were not to win, 

If thou, Devotion's fairest type, art gone ! 

XX. 

The minstrel deemed by word and smile 
Her sorrowing anguish to beguile, 
And 'suage her woe. Then, pausing, sought 
His lyre, for well he had been taught, 



TADMOR. 57 

Though young, each cadence and each chord 
That skill and nature could afford. 
Then rambling o'er its golden strings, 
His boyish carol thus he flings : — 

I. 
See, on fair Persia's glimmered sand, 
Sweet Lotis, with her pearly hand, 

Entwines the lily stem. 
On th' aloes lute, when Dian's gleam 
First silvers o'er Euphrates' stream, 

She chants her evening hymn ! 

2. 
With blithe Aurora's matin-song, 
Her nereid-train in clusters throng 

Where blushing corals grow ! 
Be thou so sad, they trip away, 
Ere yet the joyous jocund day 

Has kissed Togarmah's snow! 

3- 
Then bind those temples once again ! 
O'er Theudemor thou mayst not reign; 

Deem not the past hath been ! 
But bid thou gold-winged Hope to tell 
Yon wave and wind, in flood and dell, 

Thou shalt be Syria's queen ! 



58 T ADM OR. 

XXI. 

Now morning comes, but clouds of gloom 
Enscreen the sun ; his 'customed song 
He hears not ; but, as from a tomb, 
Wild sorrow urges slow along 
The Syrian plain for many a rood ; 
And where her pride and plenty stood 
In gorgeous glow, now smokes and reeks 
With piled death ! The searcher seeks 
Amid the glaring holocaust 
For one faint smile, ere yet be lost 
The pulse of life ; while in the air 
The flapping bird has fixed his glare. 

XXII. 

The victory o'er, at trumpets' sound, 
The Roman lictors wind around 
Their fasces with the laurel leaves ; 
And soldier decks his triumph spear, 
And decks his horse, who weary heaves, 
Though firm his tramp, yet wild his glare ! 

XXIII. 

Already, on his fleetest steed, 

A horseman flies with earnest speed 

To tell to Rome, " The conflict o'er, 



TADMOR. 

Though hard the siege, we have Tadmor ! " 
His message bound in brightest green, 
He skims across the desert sheen ! 

XXIV. 

The cohorts all assembled now, 
'T is known who wins the golden brow ; 
Who primal scaled the city wall, 
Who first from rampart wound the call. 

XXV. 

How many a soldier glows with pride, 
The " Hasta Pura " by his side, 
While thousands gaze with envious glance, 
As floats the streamer from his lance ; 
How many a steed is trapped in gold, 
And clanking chains of cunning mould, 
And broidered lace all covered o'er ; 
How many a helm the bright horn bore, 
'T were vain to tell ! for daring deeds 
Were done on Syria's sandy meads 
Ere Tadmor fell ! But speed our tale : 
The trumpets sound " Assembly Call " ! 

XXVI. 

On throne of gold, Aurelian 

Calls to his side the crowned train. 



59 



60 TADMOR. 

For Rome hath ever marked with care 
And honor full, the brave in war ! 
There youth, his primal conflict won ; 
There veteran, whom storm and sun 
Had tinged and furrowed white and deep, 
For old his years, and soon his sleep. 

XXVII. 

For well he knew the battle-blast ! 
And oft, when first ranks hurried past, 
On knee affixed, Triarii 
Opposed the storm of charging host ; 
For well they deemed, if they should fly, 
Rome's standard fell, the battle lost ! 

XXVIII. 

The purpled monarch waved about 
His ivory sceptre ; hushed the shout 
Of clanging legions ; firm his ■ look, 
And sad, yet proud, as thus he spoke : — 

XXIX. 

" Captains of Rome ! I well may mourn 
Your serried ranks, and banners torn ! 
Six months have rolled since first we cast 
Our camp upon this desert waste ! 
Six moons ye've braved yon orient foe, 



T ADM OR. 6 1 

And oft have hurled her steel-clad files, 
As Euroclydon sweeps the flow 
Of waves upon JEgean isles. 

XXX. 

" For you the triumph and the spoil ! 
Your deeds were noble, vast your toil ! 
For our treasured dead, alas ! no urn ; 
For them no cresset-light shall burn. 
They fell for Rome, — they need not more 
To glide the Stygian billows o'er. 
Bring in the captives of Tadmor ! " 

XXXI. 

His voice surceased ; but many a tear 
Fell free and fast from soldiers there, 
Who soothed and sorrowed the parting groan 
Of one well loved ; his gasping moan 
Still rang its cadence o'er and o'er, 
And looked " Revenge on Theudemor ! " 

XXXII. 

Where now thy spirit, Orient Queen, 
And why dejected in thy mien ? 
Not thus thy look, when from thy throne 
Thou ledd'st thy hosts of legions on 



62 TADMOR. 

To stormy battle ! Canst thou fear 
Yon legions' clamor for thy death ? 
Some deeper woe thy mind must share, 
To pale thy cheek and speed thy breath. 

XXXIII. 

The captives come in gloomy pace 
To imperial presence. First of all, 
Longinus ; mark a tear downfall 
Zenobia's fair but anguished face ! 
Still proud his look, undimmed his eye, 
As when on Tadmor's citadel, 
While round him glanced the arrow-hail, 
He marked the foe, and how they fell 
When swept Palmyra's legions by. 

XXXIV. 

Unmoved his soul, as Petra's rock, 
Which scorns the bleakest-driven shock 
Of wild Arabia, whose lone sands, 
To utter desolation cursed, 
Woo not the gales of happier lands, 
But mock the whirlwind's shivering burst. 

XXXV. 

Now troop the captives, till the plain 
Resounds their tread and clanking chain. 



TADMOR. 63 

Now thrice ten thousand shields are clashed ; 

As many spears and lances flashed ; 

As many voices shout aloud, 

" Give us to death the ' Queen of the East ' ! 

Our fallen, from their silent shroud, 

Would call ' Revenge ! ' Give us the feast ! " 

XXXVI. 

Like bird of Indian land, which seeks 
To burst the charm which binds her eye ; 
On fluttering wing, she soars the peaks, 
Looks fond at death, yet loath to die ; 
So swayed Zenobia's troubled soul, 
While on her heart the tempter stole. 

XXXVII. 
Unshaken as the strong banyan 
In sunny Scinde, or Hindostan, 
When howls the monsoon's sea-born storm, 
So firm Longinus' soul and form ! 

XXXVIII. 

Then spoke the laurelled emperor : 
" Thou whilom Queen of Theudemor ! 
Didst thou, all aidless, urge this war, 
So fraught with woe upon our ranks, 
That yellow Tibur's teeming banks 



64 TADMOR. 

Full long shall mourn ? Didst thou alone 

Contemn the truce by us proposed ? 

And with more strength thy proud gates closed ; 

And searched in all the burning zone 

For elements to mix that flame, 

Which, seething, from thy towers came, 

And gnawed corroding through each limb ? 

In vain the barb was quick- withdrawn ; 

In vain my hero back was borne ; 

His eye but flashed, and- then grew dim. 

If thou wast counselled, say by whom ? 

Thou shalt have life, and they thy doom ! 

Thou wilt not speak ? Then, by the Gods ! 

Though woman, thou shalt die the death ! " 

Now flash again the Roman swords ; 

Then silent as, save whispered breath, 

When storms are still, Sahara's heath ! 

XXXIX. 

The trembling Queen sees not who comes ! 
Her eyes downcast, 't is sable forms 
Of dark and dread Carnifices ! 
They reach her ear, though not her gaze. 
Zenobia, now strong-brace thy soul, 
And thou shalt win the golden goal 
Of honored death ! A moment more 
(For see they fix the fatal block 



TADMOR. 65 

To meet the axe's stunning shock) 

Thy soul shall breathe, earths anguish o'er ! 

XL. 

Now o'er her frame a tremor cold 

Quick chilled the tear which else had rolled. 

Her quivering hand slow moves, 'tis raised, 

It rests. Longinus, — it is he ! 

As the firm martyr, when high blazed 

At first the pyre, drooped his knee, 

Then, springing up, the brand he seized, 

And smiled to immortality ! 

XLI. 

So did Longinus know one pang, 

His pure heart bitter venom feel ; 

Not serpent's thirsting eager fang 

So soon his life-pulse could make still ! 

" 'Tis done ! " He speaks : " One moment more, 

I shall but rest with thee, Tadmor ; 

Full soon, amid destroying showers, 

Shall crash thy temple and thy towers ! 

XLII. 

" Thou, Imperator ! mayst not claim 
That thou hast silenced Tadmor's name ! 
Palmyra hath herself destroyed ; 
5 



66 TADMOR. 

O, sad her fall, and gloom her void ! 
And thou, unhappy Queen, live on ! 
Amid Rome's joy, thy jewelled crown 
Will be as bright as when it shone 
O'er thine own Suri ! Thou canst tell, 
In days to come, of how they fell 
Who loved this land, and loved it well ! 

XLIII. 

" For you, my friends in doom ! the tide 
And time are apt that we unmoor 
Our vessels from life's harbor-side, 
And sail the boundless blue-deep o'er 
With hopeful helm ! Our precious freight, 
The triune soul, shall joyous gain 
Eternal bliss, nor long shall wait 
In doubtful wind or adverse main ! " 

XLIV. 

Longinus ceased ; and then, once more, 
He turned to th' Orient and Tadmor ! 
" Bring here the block ! " The shimmering blade 
At once upsprings ! Longinus dead ! 

XLV. 

Go thou to Syria, where the gale 
Still winds along her blasted vale ; 



TADMOR. 



6 7 



And in the desert thou shalt find 

An Arab lone ; he strives to bind 

Some fallen frieze with moistened clay. 

He has toiled full long, for the crimson day 

To the West glides down ; the sun is wan 

When ling'ring on sad Suristan ! 

'T is eve ! the toiler's work is o'er ; 

Lone Arab, tell ! Was this Tadmor ? 




Cambridge : Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
























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